A Path Not Taken
by Fifilla
Summary: Story prompt from Irene Claire "He imagined death would feel cold instead of…" NOT a deathfic!
1. Warm

**Summary:  
><strong>Story prompt from Irene Claire _"He imagined death would feel cold instead of…"_  
>I was really, really tempted to make this a deathfic but our heroes turned out to be very stubborn and clingy ;-) I hope you enjoy that little story; it's a desperate attempt to bring back the muses that seemed to have left a while ago and are now hopefully willing to return soon.<br>Oh, and don't look for a plot, you won't find one – just plain old whump and angst.

**Disclaimer:  
><strong>Sadly, nothing Five-0 related belongs to me, I'm just playing a little bit with the wonderful characters.

**Notes:  
><strong>As I said before – this is NOT a deathfic.  
>English is not my native language, so please forgive me my mistakes.<p>

**Thanks:  
><strong>Thanks to **Irene Claire** for all the great story prompts on her Pinterest account (check it out, a lot of great H50 pics there too).  
>My everlasting thanks to <strong>rewob17<strong> for discussing all story related (and other) problems and for helping me to get back my muses.  
>Last but not least my thanks to <strong>JazzieG<strong> for betaing despite her momentary absence from the DWOCD Ohana – you're the best! Hugs! Stay strong!

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><p><strong>Warm<strong>

He imagined death would feel cold instead of hot, but all he was feeling right now was an immense heat that surrounded his body and that tried to destroy his organs from the inside out. Everything around him was warm, the gray asphalt beneath him, the bright yellow sun that burnt mercilessly down on his face and body, his own blood that bubbled out of the gaping wound in his chest with every laborious breath he took.

The heat seemed to consume his whole being; every single fiber of his body was burning with white hot pain. Every part of his body felt like he was already rotting in the purgatorial fire, except for the hole in his chest a few inches beneath his heart where the bullet had ripped his flesh and left a path of deathly destruction.

He coughed weakly, grimacing in pain and disgust when he noticed the coppery taste inside his mouth and the warm blood that slowly trickled from his lips and down his cheek, the viscous fluid slowly dropping onto the pavement.

There was a slight 'Plop' every time a drop of blood hit the hot asphalt beneath his head, the sound reverberating eerily loudly in his ears. It was a constant rhythm over all the other sounds, the noises from the passing cars just outside the backyard he was lying in, the everlasting rushing of the waves from the nearby ocean, the frantic bumping of his heart against his ribcage, the gurgling gasps that left his throat.

He tried to raise his head to look at his bloody chest but the simple movement was far beyond his strength and after only a mere inch he gave up when a searing pain flared through his upper body and he let his head sink back against the hard ground, moaning hoarsely as he desperately blinked back the black veil that crept into his sight. Squinting against the bright sunlight he thought about his current situation, fighting weakly against the temptation to simply shut his eyes and give in to the warm darkness that pulled at his mind.

It would be so easy to just give in to the pain, to just close his eyes instead of drawing another agonizing breath. He had always known that he wasn't supposed to die at home in his bed, old and weathered, with a bunch of children and grandchildren around him because in his line of duty a violent death was certainly not unusual. But this here? This felt just wrong. He couldn't die now, not so early, not like this.

There was still so much that was worth living for, despite all the loss he had suffered in his life. He had seen colleagues die, he had mourned family members and friends but he had also found a new task here on Hawaii, new friends, Ohana. People he knew cared for him as deeply as he cared for them.

Another cough rattled his frail body and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut when the white hot pain once more burnt its way through his veins. Sweat covered his deathly pale face and soaked his shirt, mixing with the crimson blood that constantly poured from the gunshot wound.

Sluggishly blinking his eyes open he thought about the irony and absurdity of the situation. He hadn't even been on a case when he had been shot; it was supposed to be a nice short trip to the nearby diner to pick up lunch for the whole team. His partner had agreed to come along and after briefly discussing their current case the two men had soon fallen into their usual banter, still bickering like an old, married couple when they had stepped into the little restaurant and placed their order.

From that point on everything seemed to have gone south – rapidly. Angry voices had emerged from the kitchen, followed by the loud clattering of falling pots or pans, and then suddenly the deafening silence after the sound of a single gunshot had died away.

After a quick look of mutual understanding and a short nod the partners had split up and only a moment later he had dashed through the staff entrance and into the small backyard, his weapon at the ready as he had cautiously looked around.

But then, without further warning, another shot had disturbed the silence and before he knew what had happened, he had felt himself tumbling to the ground, thrown back by force of the bullet that had found its goal almost directly in the middle of his chest. He hadn't even had the chance to take a look at the shooter before his gun had dropped from his numb fingers, hitting the pavement a millisecond before his body had also crashed onto the heated asphalt.

He didn't know how much time had passed since that fatal shot, it could have been seconds or minutes or even hours. All he knew was that he didn't feel any fear, only a warm numbness that slowly spread from the wound in his chest, unstoppably seeking its way through his body and gradually replacing the former agonizing heat with comfortable warmth.

Drawing another gurgling breath, he turned his head a little bit toward the bright sunlight, a slight, rueful smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He was pretty sure that he was going to die and he still wondered about the fact that death seemed to be so very different from everything he had ever imagined. He wasn't cold at all; there was no tunnel, no white light he was supposed to go into, no flashing of his life before his eyes. There was only warmth, the rays of the sun that shone into his face and radiated from the pavement, and his own warm blood that formed an ever-growing pool of dark red liquid underneath his body.

He briefly frowned in confusion when the pleasant heat on his face disappeared, blocked off by a large figure that threateningly loomed over him. But then the sunlight was back and with it a new kind of warmth, when his partner crouched down by his side, gently cupping his face with one hand. He looked up into the worried face and saw the other man's mouth moving but none of the words he was hearing made any sense, so he only smiled weakly and licked his lips.

Feeling another bout of coughing building up in his chest he tensed his muscles and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled for breath, the coppery taste in his mouth slowly making him nauseous. Someone was tapping his cheek, gently at first but then, after a few seconds of warm lethargy, stronger and almost painful until his eyelids finally fluttered open.

His partner's lips were moving faster now but he still couldn't make out any words, a deep regret filling his mind when he noticed the worry and fear in the other man's eyes; he had never intended to cause anyone harm, especially not his Ohana, but at the moment there was nothing he could do about it. An agonizing pain surged through his chest when a hand pressed firmly against the gunshot wound and he wasn't able to suppress the hoarse groan that left his throat.

He tried to turn away from the pain but the hand didn't let him go, a constant source of warmth in the middle of his chest that kept him from moving. The feeling was painful and comforting at the same time and he weakly raised his own hand, noticing in surprise that his blood-covered fingers were trembling violently. Why was he shaking when he didn't feel cold at all?

Blinking sluggishly he stared dazedly at his hand for what seemed like an eternity, completely unable to understand or stop the trembling. The warm, gentle touch against his cheek suddenly disappeared and a moment later he felt someone grabbing his hand, encircling his shaking fingers and squeezing them tightly, causing him to shift his gaze. The warmth of the touch traveled down his arm while he slowly looked up and locked eyes with his partner, who tried to feed him as much strength as possible through their intertwined fingers, willing him with all his might to fight against the warm blanket of death.

His whole chest was now numb, the agonizing pain of the wound slowly retreating, although he knew for sure that his friend's other hand was still desperately pressing against the gaping hole in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. His body felt comfortably warm, heavy and light at the same time, as if his whole being was dancing at the small border between life and death, a slight push all it needed to make him stumble into the embrace of eternity.

Weakly turning his head toward his partner's frantic voice, he felt how quiet, soothing warmth filled his mind, like a soft blanket that kept all sorrow, all fear and all pain away. He was still surprised that the prospect of dying wasn't scaring him, but the warmth inside him and around him provided him with a feeling of absolute safety, the strong grip of his partner's hand around his own the last lifeline that tied him to the mortal world.

Feeling the frail connection slowly fading away he tried one last time to keep on fighting but the task of taking another breath seemed suddenly far too exhausting when a heavy weight pressed against his chest, making it almost impossible to fill his injured lungs with much needed oxygen. He sighed softly while warm, foamy blood trickled from his lips and down his cheeks and the last coherent thought before his eyes slipped shut was that death really didn't feel cold.

**(tbc)**


	2. Cold

**Cold**

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, wincing when the cold, harsh light of the bathroom mercilessly showed every line of worry on his haggard face. The long days of waiting and hoping had torn at his nerves, and the endless hours of sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair at his partner's bedside without enough sleep or a proper meal had definitely not helped to improve his own condition.

His eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets and the dark circles underneath them gave him an almost ghostly appearance. He absently raised his hand to scratch the stubble on his chin, trying to decide if he could muster the strength to shave but he soon dismissed the idea with a soft sigh and a gloomy shake of his head.

Slowly shuffling back into his partner's room, he hesitantly stepped closer to the bed. His clammy fingers tightened around the cold, metallic bedrail as he looked down at his friend, choking back the icy grip of hopelessness that squeezed his heart. It was a miracle that the other man was still alive; the doctors didn't get tired of pointing out that fact over and over again, but for some obvious reason he couldn't find any solace in their words.

His thoughts traveled back to the day when he had found his friend in that backyard, bleeding heavily and gasping for air in the bright sunshine and suddenly he longed for a little bit of that warmth. Suppressing a shiver he heavily dropped into the chair and grabbed the woolen blanket that one of the nurses had provided him with a few days ago, flashing him a gentle, sympathetic smile when she had seen the way he hugged himself to chase away the cold.

Why on earth was it so damn cold in here anyway? The white sheets, the white colored walls and ceilings, the sterile bandages and instruments, the bright light in the rooms and corridors. Everything around him gave him a feeling of coldness and hopelessness and he once more shook his head to fight back those unbidden thoughts; he had to stay strong for his partner, he had to fight.

He had barely left the hospital during the last few days, refusing vehemently to leave his friend's side, no matter what his team had done to try to make him go home, take a shower and have a good night's sleep. Leaning forward he slowly grabbed the paper cup from the nightstand, sighing silently when he noticed that yet another cup of coffee had gone cold because he had just forgotten to drink it.

Fidgeting with the barely touched beverage for a moment he tiredly stood up and returned to the bathroom, this time avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror while he poured away the dark brown liquid and tossed the empty cup into the nearby bin. Resting his hands on the cold sink he closed his eyes and let his head drop forward while he took a few deep breaths. He couldn't allow himself to break but to be honest he didn't know how much longer he was able to bear the current situation.

The loud beeping of an alarm from the adjacent room caused him to jump into action and he dashed through the door at the same time as a nurse entered the room from the other side. The petite silver-blonde woman raised her hands and threw him a reassuring glance when she saw the expression of horror on his face, nodding calmly toward the empty IV bag that had caused the alarm.

His heart was beating frantically while he waited impatiently until the nurse had changed the IV bag and checked the latest vital signs; he forced a slight smile onto his lips when the woman flashed him a last inquiring look before she silently left the room, finally leaving him alone with his partner and his dark musings. He knew that all the nurses and doctors took pity on him but after a heated argument the first day after the shooting they left him alone and didn't try anymore to kick him out.

Far too agitated to sit back down he ran a slightly trembling hand over his face and started to restlessly pace the room, now and then throwing a look at the other man, involuntarily shivering when he watched the cold, clear liquid drop from the IV bag and slowly run into his partner's vein. White bandages covered the main part of his friend's upper body, forming a sharp contrast to the multi-colored ECG leads that were attached to the few small spots of bare skin that were still visible. The thin blanket only reached up to the injured man's waist, giving the nurses and doctors better access to the wound, making it easier for them to change the bandages every day. The drain from the surgical wound had finally been removed the day before after the doctors had decided that an additional surgery luckily wouldn't be necessary.

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut in thankful silence and breathed out a relieved sigh when he remembered the doctors' announcement. The image of the cold surgical instruments that mercilessly cut through his partner's skin and tissue was cruelly vivid in front of his inner eye, and he really couldn't stand the thought of another surgery although he knew of course that the doctors had just tried to remove the bullet and repair all the damage.

Throwing a look outside the small window he frowned in surprise when he noticed that it was already growing dark, a soft breeze gently playing with the leaves of a group of palm trees. It had been raining all day long and now the early evening sky was showing a mixture of all imaginable shades of blue and gray, the low clouds looming almost threateningly over the horizon. Tightly crossing his arms in front of his chest he stared outside for a long moment, almost able to feel the cold rain on his face and the wind in his hair.

Sighing heavily he finally settled back down into the uncomfortable chair, briefly burying his face in his hands as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Suppressing the yawn that built up in his chest he firmly scrubbed his cold hands over his face to chase away the bone-deep fatigue. Once more grabbing the woolen blanket he wrapped himself in the scratchy fabric and moved the chair a little bit closer to the bed so that he was able to reach through the metallic bedrail.

Without further hesitation he took his partner's limp hand and embraced it with his own, just like he had done in that sunny backyard all those days ago. He started to talk quietly, a little hesitant at first but after a while his voice lost a bit of its hoarseness and the words came out more fluently. He didn't care what he was talking about; he just let the words roll from his tongue, trying to reach his friend and fill the chilly emptiness of the hospital room with whatever thoughts were drifting through his mind.

The hours passed by just like all the other days and nights before, the only thing that interrupted his lonely vigil were the regular visits of the nurses. They tried a few times to persuade him to take a rest and care for himself but he just stubbornly shook his head and stayed in his seat, almost motionless at his partner's bedside. When the night got deeper he repositioned the chair one more time so that he was able to lean his head against the cold, white painted wall, making sure that he never let his friend out of sight.

He dozed off a few times during the night but the small plastic chair was far too uncomfortable and the woolen blanket didn't provide enough warmth to sleep deeply, and so he was instantly awake when the soft, rhythmic beeping of the monitor at the head of the bed suddenly changed.

Not sure what had woken him he stayed motionless in his chair and stared wide-eyed at the blue and green lines and numbers on the small screen that glowed eerily cold in the dim light of the hospital room until a slight movement on the bed sheets caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat when he hesitantly shifted his gaze to the left, watching his partner's hand like a hawk its prey.

His heart beat loudly in his chest and the blood rushed in his ears while he waited for a confirmation that the movement hadn't been a figment of his imagination, a cruel dream that tried to make him believe that there was finally an improvement in the other man's condition.

But then, in the wee hours of the morning when the dark coldness of the night slowly made room for the typical heat of another Hawaiian day, he saw it again and without further hesitation he jumped up, almost knocking over the uncomfortable plastic chair in the hurry to reach his partner.

The woolen blanket dropped uselessly to the cold, white PVC floor as he stumbled forward and stepped closer to the bed, his gaze darting between the gently twitching fingers of his friend's left hand and his pale face. He shivered with cold and excitement, the sudden adrenaline burst leaving him shaky and a bit breathless. Huffing out a strange sound that was a mixture between laughing and sobbing he watched in amazement how his partner sluggishly blinked his eyes open. The world seemed to stand still for a long moment when the two friends just looked at each other in silence until finally an almost invisible smile grazed the injured man's lips.

He would probably vehemently deny later that it had ever happened but right now, when he took his partner's hand and returned the surprisingly strong and warm grip, he wasn't ashamed of the single, hot tear that rolled down his cheek, finally chasing away the coldness that had settled down in his heart for so long.

**THE END**

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><p><em>AN:  
>I leave it up to your imagination if it was Steve or Danny who got shot. I think it works both ways but of course I had one of them in my mind when I wrote the story.<em>  
><em>I hope you enjoyed that little piece of whump and angst, thanks a lot for all your reviews, favorites and alerts - you are amazing!<br>_


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